


Glory and Gore

by daxxripley



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Graphic Sexual Depictions, Strong Undead Themes, Torture, extreme coarse language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1680749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daxxripley/pseuds/daxxripley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen is sixteen years old, and her entire life has been dedicated to training to kill Hollows; deadly creatures that feast on humans. She finds herself enraptured by the captivating Peeta Mellark when she's sent beyond the safety of her city to save his life. But the world outside her protective walls is not as glorious as she imagined, and she soon realizes she's in a war between the gore of the Hollow's new world and her own humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters and/or story.
> 
> A special thanks to my amazing Beta, Tebby_Sweet! None of this would be possible without you.

   Our society has been plagued by the manifestation of all evil in the world. It took mere months for this disease to eat away at and lay to waste our entire country. Our citizens went down in a blaze of panicked glory.  
  
   There were some who hid away cowardly and prayed for forgiveness; they begged their God to save them from what they believed to be the work of the devil himself, but their God never showed. There were others still, driven mad with fear, and they too locked themselves away until they starved or committed suicide out of desperation.  
  
   And then there were the few, the ones who fought back. We were sparse, uncommon in the beginning; the brave some who weren't driven to insanity by the fear and did not sit back and blindly expect divine interference. We are responsible for the rebuilding of this country, piece by piece like an intricate jigsaw puzzle, and even now, many, many years later, there are still pieces missing.  
  
   We are no longer at the top of the food chain. Humanity is stalked, in the cold dead of night and the fierce blaze of sunlight, by a beast. They are the new threat, the apex predator, and they come in packs. They detect our scent well before we detect their presence. One bite, one mere scratch, means certain, absolute death. They are foul creatures whose intentions are always the same- to feast.  
  
   We call them Hollows, and it's our job to kill them; to take back what is ours.  
  
   What's left of our country is in tattered ruins and overrun by the Hollows, with the exception of a few fortress cities like mine... but what's left of our people is not. We have become strong. We train, starting at the age of eight: response to medical emergencies, use of advanced weaponry, and survival on the outside, in the world of the Hollows.  
  
   We may have lost the battle, but we will not lose the war. We will fight back, even until nothing remains of our humanity at all. But we will survive, because we have something the Hollows don't have; something worth fighting for.


	2. Hollowed Beginnings

_“Welcome to your first training session. My name is Agent Crane, and I'll be overseeing you all today. I'm sure that growing up you've all heard what training is like, or maybe you've actually talked to some of the trainers throughout the city. Before we get started with the physics, I've got to explain to you the basics of everything. First, can anyone tell me the purpose of all of this?” Our new instructor looked around expectantly._

_I gaze around the room at the group of children, some smaller than me but most larger, and see a few raise their hand. I look back to Agent Crane just as he points to a boy behind me._

_“Yes, boy?” He asks._

_“To kill the Hollows, sir?” the boy timidly replies._

_Agent Crane nods his head sharply, folds his hands behind his back and begins to pace the room as he speaks._

_“Well, yes and no. You see, many decades ago our society was not nearly as advanced as today. When the outbreak began, our people were not equipped, nor knowledgeable enough, to protect themselves. Large cities, much larger than ours, were quickly overtaken by hundreds of thousands of Hollows. The people didn't have the technology, nor were they trained in the weaponry needed to effectively fight back. The human race became nearly extinct. After many years of living in isolation, far away from the overrun cities, we began to fight back. We have our forefathers to thank for where we are now; the city of Verona is standing due to their bravery and willingness to risk their own lives. Still, there are those in hiding. These people live in the wilderness or wherever they can find shelter. They do not know of our city and our safety, and it is our job, our duty, to rescue them. That is always our main goal.”Agent Crane finished, coming to a halt once again in front of our group._

_“Then why do even learn to fight?” One girl asks arrogantly._

_“What is your name?” Agent Crane replies, stern eyes resting on the presumptuous girl._

_“Clove,” she answers in a rather disdainful tone._

_“What a lovely name. Let me ask you, Clove, what is it you prepare to do if you're sent on an OP, an emergency rescue mission, and minutes after you pass through the city gates, a horde of Hollows attack? Or, for instance, what would you do if the family you were sent to rescue was surrounded by Hollows? How exactly do you propose to save them, or to defend yourself?” His voice is stern, his gaze fierce._

_Clove scowls silently and he nods his head in satisfaction, returning his gaze to the room at large._

_“You fight. This is war against humanity; a fight for survival. It's us against them, and if we are not ready for their attack- we will lose everything. This brings me to our second goal: to create a world where we can exist peacefully. A world where our city has no need for a massive wall to protect us, and our children can run free without the constant fear of attack. This world comes in one of two ways; we exterminate the Hollows, or we discover a cure for the disease.” he says, staring us all down intently._

_“Do you think they'll ever make a cure?” A petite blonde girl asks quietly._

_“Our scientists and advanced medics are tirelessly working to find a cure. Once bitten, the virus spreads so rapidly through the bloodstream it makes it virtually impossible for medicine to be effective. It would have to be administered immediately, but as of now there is no known cure for this virus.” Agent Crane says solemnly._

_The room is quiet as Agent Crane gives us a few moments to consider everything he's told us. I take this opportunity to glance surreptitiously around the room and at the far end I see an array of weapons; assault rifles, M24's, semi automatic pistols, sharpened knives, battle axes and twin axes, long spears, deadly curved swords, a rack containing varying styles of brass knuckles, and many more. My eyes quickly find the only weapon I know how to use; a bow. My father began teaching me when I was very small. It's his specialty weapon; he's a Long Range Marksman in his quadrant._

_“Moving on,” Agent Crane says brusquely. “You now know why we train. Next, I'm going to explain to you what squads consist of. Typically each squad sent out on an OP consists of three types of fighters, and one each of the specialties; Long Range Marksmen, Raiders, and Lures. Whichever type of training you score highest in will be your core training, but you'll still be expected to train in the remaining two supplemental courses as well, for emergency situations. Also you'll be expected to be versed in what we call crash medical training, which is on spot emergency medical care.” he lectures, pacing before us once more._

_“If there's no cure, why do we need emergency medical training? If we get bitten, we're going to die anyways.” A voice drifts from the back of the room._

_“Because if you trip while running and fall on your knife, you're going to need to know how to stop the bleeding and stitch yourself up,” Agent Crane responds coolly. The kid doesn't reply._

_“Now, the first thing I'm going to explain is what a Lure is. A Lure's specialty training requires extreme endurance; long distance running and sprinting. Setting traps is, on spot navigation skills, fast reflexes; a Lure's job when on an OP is to act as bait, so to speak. A Lure will draw attention away from the Long Range Marksman and the Raider. The Lure may find themselves being forced to lead an entire pack of Hollows until the LRM and Raider can target and pick apart the pack, so he or she must be in top physical shape and condition. Without the Lure, a large herd of Hollows would quickly surround your vehicle and you would be dead in minutes.” Agent Crane informs us._

_“Next are the Raiders. Raiders are trained in hand-to-hand close combat. Typically, Raiders carry an array of throwing knives, a katana or a battle axe, and an assortment of both handguns and assault rifles. Raiders are typically physically stronger and larger than the Lure and LRM. They are the power core of the operation. The main objective for a Raider is to attack the Hollows and eliminate them as quickly as possible.” he continued._

_“Lastly, the Long Range Marksman. The LRM generally remains with the vehicle during the fight; climbing through the sun roof and on top of the vehicle for a sight and position advantage. They scan the fight from a distance and protect the Lure and Raider from any unnoticed Hollows. If the Lure loses the Hollows attention or is killed, and the Raider loses control of the fight and is killed, the Marksman can sometimes even finish the fight by bringing them down single handedly. LRM's are typically armed with M24's or assault rifles an, in rare cases, a bow.” I feel a thrill of excitement run through me at our Instructor's last words._

_I might not know many things about battle yet, but I know how to shoot a bow. I couldn't throw knives or fire any guns, but a bow was gold in my hands; I even had my own bow at home. My father gave it to me three years prior, when I was five. He and I used to practice every day. Emotion wells within me but I fiercely tamp it down- now is not the time for self- pity._

_“So here we go- today, you're barely going to get your feet wet, no pressure. Feel free to explore the training center on your own, but try to visit each area of it before the day is over. Relax, enjoy yourselves, try to find what feels most natural. The real training begins tomorrow.” Agent Crane gives us a brusque nod and walks away._

_Everyone begins to slowly disperse, drifting off in different directions until only I am left hesitating, looking around freely now. Slowly, I wander towards the weapons wall. I pass the various stations until I find myself standing before the bows. I want to pick one up, test it in my hands. I decide on one of the smaller ones, a medium sized steel bow that most resembles mine; this one, however, is white as bone. 'This is my bow too', I tell myself. It fires just like mine at home, it looks like it, feels the same in my hands. It is exactly the same, no reason to be nervous. Excluding the Special Agent who guards this station, I am alone. No one else had ventured this far down the weapons rack; the bows, such a rare talent and difficult to hone._

_My fingertips tingle as I lift the bow up, testing it in both hands. I pull at the taught string, let it snap back into place with a satisfying twang. I reach back to the rack and pick out a quiver of matching white steel bows and sling them across my back. I walk back to the middle of the room and face the targets; they are set up at the far end, behind where we were standing while Agent Crane spoke to us. I nod to the Special Agent who operates the targets and he flips a switch on the module before him. The targets begin moving._

_There are three targets total, moving in different patterns and paths, clockwise, counter clockwise; one second they are side by side and then they are all in different areas along the wall. They move quickly, but I am quicker. I pull a single arrow from the notch on my back, line it up along my bow and pull the string tight. I breathe deeply and exhale slowly. Accuracy. Speed. Consistency._

_Soundlessly, the first arrow flies and before it buries itself deep in the center of the first target, I've already loaded another arrow and it fires from my fingertips barely a breath later. My fingers are grasping another arrow and I pull it from the sheath with an unwavering quickness. I let the third arrow go just moments after the second, and then I pause. I've hit all the targets with deadly accuracy and I realize I've been in my own world; the room has become eerily silent. I look around in a slight daze and all eyes are fixed on me and my impaled targets._

_Agent Crane begins striding towards me._

_“You must be Miss Everdeen.”_

The city is blanketed in darkness. The streets are deserted, and the silence is like a heavy fog. I walk along a faintly glowing sidewalk, powered by solar strips. A starry night sky twinkles above me, and a full moon glows brilliantly. It would be a picturesque night, if not for the horrors lurking just beyond our towering fortress walls.  
I know somewhere beyond those walls, the Hollows are exceptionally active tonight, prowling for food, hunting in packs through the woods. A full moon is known to increase their hunger, their aggressiveness. I imagine clearly a group of them preying through the woods, flesh rotting off the bone and mouths dripping with the blood of past feasts. I wonder if any have found our city this night, and even now lurk around the wall looking for entry. It is likely; this is nearly a nightly occurrence. The Night's Watch that man the wall will shoot them on sight.

I force my thoughts from the Hollows. I'm now standing in front of a tall, steel building. I place my hand on the sensor next to the handle and a small green light flashes, instantly registering that I'm human, and the doors slide open with a silent efficiency. I walk through the doors, slide my hand across another sensor along the wall and the doors slide shut just as soundlessly. This is one of many safety precautions in Verona, our city. In case of an infestation, Hollows cannot penetrate the buildings as they are not intelligent enough to active the sensors, and if, by accident, they do, the sensors will register the mutated genes and the doors will remain shut. 

Strangers to the city wouldn't know that inside this building a celebration was occurring. We do this after a group of soldiers return from a successful OP. It's a morale booster; it helps relieve stress, and release pent up negative emotion. Plus, it's just a good time. Once inside I can already hear music thumping from the speakers on the top floor. My boots click as I stride quickly across the marble floor to a row of elevators and place my hand to another sensor. The green light flashes and within seconds the elevator has reached me; I walk inside. The music is much louder when the doors open and I enter a dark room packed full of people dancing and drinking. Everyone is dressed relatively the same: black pants, boots, and a v-neck black shirt. This is standard uniform, and I'm dressed no different.

A server with a tray of drinks comes up to me, and I take a tall glass with a deep purple drink inside. I have no idea what's in it, but it's sweet with a slight burn as it goes down. I sip on it as I look around the room and try to spot Gale among the dancing crowd. I know he's here, and will probably be losing more control than me since he was part of this OP. I haven't seen him since he left almost two weeks ago. His group went on a raid just above the north border of the state; killing every Hollow along the way and searching for more survivors, a fairly standard raid. They suffered no casualties and even saved a small family by bringing them back to Verona. I'm certain he'll be in grade A celebration mode tonight.

My speculations are proven correct when I see him sitting at the bar with a few of his friends, empty glasses lined out on the bar in front of them. He's laughing but I can't hear it over the music. Whatever they're talking about must really amuse him, because every few seconds he tosses his head back and shows a perfect set of white teeth flashing in the low light. It makes me smile to see him safe and happy, but I knew Gale would come home safe. He came in second in Lure training. He's excellent at setting traps for the Hollows, throwing knives, and is exceptionally accurate with hand held pistols.

I finish the glass of mysterious purple liquor and set it on a table as I walk past, crossing the room to Gale and his friends.

“Catnip!” He exclaims as he sees me approaching.

“Gale,” I say with a smile. “How was the OP?”

“Better than the last,” he says with a grin.

He slides off the bar stool, leaving his friends and drink behind with a smile and a nod, and I follow him through the crowd and across the room. He stops in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out past the wall. The view stuns me. This is the first time I've seen over the wall- I was only recently granted access to this building after completing LRM training, and only certain buildings in the city are built to see over the boundaries. I hungrily scan all that I can see in the limited moonlight, already thirsty for more.

“I thought you'd want to see that,” he tells me with a grin. “How are you enjoying your first celebration?” He continues, eyes sweeping around the room like a trained soldier as he speaks to me.

I smile and pull my eyes away from the view in front of me to devote my attention to him. I turned sixteen three weeks ago and officially graduated from training. This is the first celebration we've had since then.

“It's entertaining, I'll give it that,” I say, my eyes following his around the room. “Just like you said.”

All over the room people are kissing, dancing, and one woman has even crawled on top of the bar. I raise my eyebrows and glance sideways at Gale. His eyes are on her for a second before he also steals a glance at me. We both snort in laughter and turn away from the party again, looking out the window once more.

“What was it like this time? Give me all of the details,” I exclaim in excitement.

Gale is used to this by now. Every time he returns from an OP, I want to hear the whole story. I want to know where they went, what the Hollows were like, how many there were, how they killed them, what the world looked like where they went, and any other question I could come up with. He smiled and began feeding the flame. 

“Well,” He began slowly. “It started raining about three days in. That kept the Hollows off our trail for a while, I think. There weren't many this time, at least not compared to others, but it still wasn't easy. Kip almost got bit but someone put a bullet in the Hollow's head before it got him,” he continues, smiling a little as I listen, eyes wide, without interruption as he recounts his adventure.

“They're disgusting, Catnip, honestly. Just wait until you get sent out on your first OP, you'll see. They smell dead, rotten, and their flesh is literally falling off their bones. They have this weird hissing sound, kind of like a groan. I think they're trying to growl but it doesn't come out right; it's creepy,” he says, obviously trying to gross me out. It won't work; I'm too anxious to see them myself, too enthralled with the thrill of it all.

This explains why Gale always smells bad when he comes home, though. It must be the dead smell the Hollows put off.

“But they're easy enough to kill,” I comment, not really understanding why he always makes it sound so dangerous. Hollows are relatively slow, and incapacitating one is surprisingly easy if you aim for the right place.

“If you keep your head. When a pack of them are bearing down on you, it's easy to lose your focus and throw your aim off. You can shoot them a hundred times in the chest, you can cut off their arms and even their head, but if you don't penetrate their brain they'll continue to come after you, even if it's just a severed head taking bites from the ground. I'm telling you Catnip, you have no idea what it's like out there. The training gets you prepared physically but until you're in the situation first hand you just can't know if you have the mental capacity,” he insists, staring at me intently. He's trying to scare me, to intimidate me. Like always, it doesn't fail to piss me off.

“So you don't think I can handle it, is that what you're saying?” I snap angrily.

“No,” he denies, shaking his head. “I think you can handle it, I'm just telling you to focus. And don't cling to this pretty idea of what you picture it'll be like outside the wall. It's more gruesome, more brutal, more horrifying than you dream about. You're going to be disappointed,” he finishes, looking away from me and back out over the walls.

We're quiet now as I analyze his words. He gives me this same speech every time he returns, but I've always brushed it off. But now that I'm sixteen, knowing that I can be sent out at any time for my first OP, I let Gale's words sink in. I know it's life or death out there, black and white with no in-between, but somewhere inside me, somehow I still feel like I'm supposed to be out there for something. I think my father felt the same way, had that same fire to go out beyond the wall, because he seized every opportunity he could. His fire took him to an early grave though, because one day when I was very young he left out on an OP and never returned. I'm thinking about my father and his final moments when Gale interrupts my thoughts.

“Don't stress over it, Catnip. You'll get the hang of it fast out there,” he says. “As long as you have your bow, you'll be fine,” he continues, reaching out and tugging my braid gently.

I meet his beautiful gray eyes and give him a faint smile. I realize, standing there, that I don't want to stand around and mope over the Hollows and my father at my first celebration. My father certainly wouldn't want that, so I set my shoulders, grab Gale's hand and push the crowd in search of another drink.  


* * *

It takes me exactly two more drinks to decide I've reached my limit. 

“Catnip, you weigh, like, ninety pounds. You didn't really think you could keep up with me your first time drinking, did you?” Gale is laughing loudly at me, amusement bright in his gaze.

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” I exclaim equally loudly, covering my mouth with my hand as I laugh, unable to stop.

I'd decided to leave the party early and Gale offered to walk me home, gentleman that he is. The streets remained empty, still; everyone being either asleep or at the party. Gale drops his arm onto my head and rests it there as we walk; this doesn't help my wayward balance at all. I gave him a go-to-hell look and shove his arm off, teetering a bit as I do so. He knows I hate when he does that. Which, I'm sure, is exactly why he does it, I think sourly to myself with no small sense of revelation. He grins and shoves my shoulder gently. Normally, I'd keep my footing and shove him back but the liquor is really impairing my reflexes. The buildings on the street tip slowly to one side as I lose my balance, and I feel Gale's hands grip my arms tightly, pulling me upright just as I'm about to fall. This causes me to laugh again for some strange reason.

“Okay,” he says with a grin and shake of his head. “It's time to get you home and put you in bed,” he continues, draping one arm lightly around my shoulders to help keep me upright.

We walk a couple more blocks in silence before we reach the building my family lives in. Gale puts his hand to the sensor and leads me inside. My eyelids droop as I feel myself becoming more sleepy by the second, and then suddenly I'm just ready to be out of these clothes and under my thick bed covers. Once we're inside the elevator, Gale leans over and tugs off the long necklace I wear around my neck. On it is a tag with my name, age, and rank. It also acts as a card key to our apartment; everyone has one. I balance myself with Gale's arm as we stand in front of my door and he waves my tag in front of another sensor. There's a muffled click, and Gale pushes the door open.

The apartment is dark; Prim and my mother are obviously in bed, fast asleep. Gale does not need directions. He's been here countless times and knows exactly where my room is. For some reason this thought makes me giggle again. He gives me a questioning look and pulls me inside. I sit on the edge of my bed as he turns the lamp by my bed; sleep begins to take over and I sprawl out backwards. I hear Gale rummaging through my dresser next to the bed, though it seems a lot further away. He drops a pair of shorts and a tank top next to me.

“At least put on something more comfortable to sleep in,” he whispers, and bends to pull off my boots. I raise up on my elbows, the extent of my abilities right now, help kick them off and give him a smile.

“Thank you,” I say. My words sound slurred even to me. He raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“For getting your shoes off?” He asks incredulously.

“For getting me home,” I correct him. It's important that I let him know this. I think... I'm not sure anymore. I feel very, very sleepy. I fall back again onto the bed.

He shrugs and sets my boots at the foot of my bed before sitting down next to me. His gray eyes are dark now in the dim room, and the lamp casts a shadow on one side of his face. His reaches out hesitantly, his fingertips barely brushing my cheek before I pull back slightly and drop my gaze. I am sleepy, but not so gone that I don't understand. I'm about to speak, am attempting to formulate words when I hear him sigh and stand up.

“I should go,” he says shortly. “You should change clothes and go to bed,” he finishes, backing up from my bed now.

I look up and catch his eyes, but only for a moment before he turns and leaves the room. I faintly hear the front door close behind him. I've wondered before if Gale and I would reach a point in our friendship where one of us cared more than the other. I've considered it before, but can just never picture Gale and I as anything other than what we are now. We've been friends for too long I guess, and the relationship is more like that of a brother and sister; at least it is to me. We know each other inside and out, nothing left for us to discover about each other. There's no mystery, nothing new, and no desire. I'm never left wanting more after he leaves. We are comfortable, and while I love Gale and the comfort he gives me, I know it's not what he wants and not what I need. I make a mental note to speak to him tomorrow. I crawl out of bed and change into my night clothes and my bed has barely hit the pillow before I pass out.


	3. Appetite for Destruction

Dawn comes quickly when you're exceptionally sleepy. I lie awake, unmoving, a dull ache pulsing through my temples. I roll over and bury my face in the pillow, pulling the covers over my head completely. Thankfully, today is Sunday, the only day of the week that I don't have training. I can hear Prim and my mother's muffled voices coming from the kitchen; I will myself out of bed and slowly my body follows my brain's commands. Grabbing a jacket from my closet, as it's cool in our apartment this morning, I make my way slowly into the dining room.

At the table sit my mother and sister. Prim is reading over one of her many medic training books, taking notes in a thick notebook. I rest my body weight against the back of her chair and lean over her shoulder, scanning my eyes over what she's reading. Prim is highly intelligent, but particularly in regards to everything medical. She's currently ranked number one in her class, and second rank is far behind her. She's much more clever on this subject than I am. As I begin reading a page from the open book I have to stop and rub my eyes. These words are much too big and it is far too early in the morning.

I pull back a chair and sit next to her at the small table. She pauses from her reading and looks up to give me bright smile before going back to work; she's extremely studious. I rest my elbows on the table and place my chin in my hands. I need to shower, get dressed and go find Gale; but first, I need breakfast.

“Good morning, Katniss,” My mother says gently. I inhale deeply before casting my gaze briefly at her across the table.

“Good morning,” I mutter shortly.

“Did you enjoy your first celebration?” She asks curiously, brushing aside my coldness.

I pause before answering, looking at her closely. She has tired eyes, and the wrinkles in her face are growing steadily deeper with each passing year; she looks older than I know her to be. I try to imagine her when she was younger, and I steal a glance at Prim; they have always looked the most similar. With vibrant blonde hair and clear blue eyes, Prim is an innocent beauty. I, however, inherited the dark hair and dark eyes of my father. Sometimes I wonder if my mother sees him every time she looks at me; I wonder if that's why she shut me out the most.

***

__

_“Prim, darling, can you set the table for dinner?” Mother calls over her shoulder._

_Prim begins putting plates and silverware on the table. I take out the glasses and begin filling them with tea. As I pass her by, I give her hip a gentle nudge with mine; she giggles and nearly loses her grip on the plates in her tiny hands. I reach out at the last second and snag them, reflexes keeping them from crashing to the floor._

_“Okay,” my mother begins sternly, but her mouth is twitching at the corners. “Behave; do not break my china,” she finishes with a small smile._

_Prim and I turn away with a nod, stealing glances at one another and giggling quietly. We keep looking over our shoulders as we roughhouse with each other, trying to keep from getting in trouble again. I feel Prim's little fingers poke into my side and I jerk to the right, letting out a shrill squeal._

_“Girls!” She's a little more serious this time._

_We become more solemn this time and resume setting the table; our mother starts placing the food as I'm filling the glasses, and we are seated at the table for no more than a few seconds when there is a knock at the door. This is unusual, as the only person who comes to visit this time of the night is Gale and he's been bedridden for days now with a virus. I see concern flash in my mothers eyes, and her face drains of color; she knows something is out of place. My father has been gone on his OP for two and a half weeks now. They were heading very far out, one of the furthest trips from Verona any quadrant has made. He's not due back yet anytime soon and anyway, he wouldn't knock. These facts are making my mother nervous, and I do my best not to let my own emotions show for Prim._

_Our mother tells us to fill our plates and begin eating as she leaves the table. As she stands, for just a fleeting moment, I read the look in her eyes plainly- “Keep Prim at the table.” The look is gone as swiftly as it appeared and she leaves the room quickly. I hear the door open with a quiet click, and a deep voice begins speaking words that will fuel my darkest nightmares for years to come._

_“Mrs. Everdeen, may we come inside?” the solemn voice asks._

_Prim and I look at each other; I try valiantly to keep my face blank, to hide my emotions from my baby sister, but my emotions are running haywire now; before I can stop myself I'm pushing away from the table and following my mother to the door. It's all the confirmation I need, seeing the two Special Agents standing before us holding out the flag of Verona and a badge honored only to those who don't return from missions._

_My mother's knuckles are white from gripping the door frame. She's frozen, and hasn't answered the Agent. He looks down after a few moments, unable to hold her stricken gaze, and clears his throat before speaking again._

_“Ma'am, I am deeply sorry to give you this news. Your husband, Robert Everdeen, was involved in a tragic incident during his OP. He fought heroically before he fell, and in respect of his bravery and sacrifice, we would like to present you with the flag of our city and this badge of honor. I am truly sorry,” he intones in a grave voice, his sorrow plain on his face._

_“What-” Prim's voice cracks before she can finish her sentence; I hadn't realized she followed me from the table. I wheel around to see her wide, tear rimmed eyes fixed just beyond me on the Special Agents. Her gaze drops to the proffered flag and I know, despite being so young, she understands. She opens her mouth, gasping brokenly for air and shaking her head in disbelief._

_“Prim,” I whisper, and begin walking toward her; I need to comfort her._

_She stumbles backwards and her eyes flash to me belatedly as if seeing me standing there for the first time. Something seems to break within her and she begins to cry, cringing away from me. I faintly hear the door close behind me. Once I get Prim in my arms I slide to the floor and pull her frail body onto my lap, cradling her like a baby. I look desperately over my shoulder for my mother; she's standing with her back pressed to the door, the flag and badge in her hands, but her eyes are fixed on me. Her tears threaten to spill over and her entire body trembles, but our locked gazes never waver. Her eyebrows furrow slightly as if suddenly she doesn't recognize me. I want to speak, tell her she knows who I am. “I'm your daughter!” I scream internally at her. “Say something! Do something!”_

_Instead she drops the flag and badge and covers her mouth in an effort to stifle the wail she cannot control. She turns her face away, unable to look at me any longer, and begins stumbling to her room. With each step, her sobs grow louder and louder until finally the click and lock of her bedroom door drowns out all the crying but Prim's._

_I was unable to coax her out of her room. It was Prim who took her food, only Prim to whom she would speak. It took weeks for her to look at me again, and months before she spoke to me at all._

__

***

“Yeah, it was fun,” I answer her softly, memories flashing through my mind.

“Gale was there too?” she probes me for more information; more that I am unwilling, unable to give her.

“Of course; it was his celebration, after all,” I reply curtly. Prim looks up from her book at this, her eyes alight with interest.

“I overheard the family they saved talking yesterday. They were talking about three other survivors they met outside the wall. They said the girl with them was mad, totally crazy. I wonder if Snow will send out another quad to find them?” she asks curiously.

The memories evaporate now from my mind instantaneously. All of my attention turns to Prim and this new information. If Snow gets this intel, which he surely will, he'll want to send a squad out immediately; and being that I'm of age, he might just send me out too. This would be perfect for me, my first opportunity to show what I'm made of. We know the general location of the survivors; they must still be in the same zone the previous family was recovered from. It is almost too easy, absolutely perfect for a first-timer. I do my best to hide my excitement and give her a nonchalant shrug.

“Who knows? Anything's possible,” I reply vaguely. Probable would be the correct reply.

Suddenly I'm ready to get out of the house. I need to find Gale and not only talk to him about last night, but tell him this news. I rise from the table eagerly and kiss the top of Prim's head. I walk into the kitchen and grab an apple from the bowl on the counter, and snag a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“I'm going to see Gale,” I say as coolly as possible to my mother, brushing past her at the table.

I go to my room and hurriedly pull on a pair of pants and my boots, nearly forgetting my tags on the dresser, and head out the door. I bite into the crisp, green apple as I touch the sensor for the elevator and walk inside. 

It's still early, and everything outside looks bright and vivid. I shield my eyes with one hand and rush down the sidewalk. Gale lives three buildings down from mine. Our buildings are both made of pure, jet black steel; you can almost see your reflection in them. The windows are tinted to a similar shade. Both buildings look sleek and expensive.

I hurry inside the building, straight to Gale's apartment, and begin rapping my knuckles on the door impatiently. Hazel, Gale's mother, greets me at the door with a surprised smile. The smell of bacon wafts out the doorway and I inhale deeply; Gale's apartment smells like home. She's dressed comfortably with a loosely tied apron over her sleepwear. Her dark hair is falling from her ponytail, framing her familiar face in a disheveled sort of way. She, much like my mother, looks a little older than she is, but I have always found her lovely. I have also always considered her to be very brave.

Gale's father died in battle a year after my father did. Unlike my mother, Gale's mother didn't completely abandon her children. In fact, she worked double to take care of them. It has given me extreme respect for her. Sometimes I think that maybe she saw how my mother lost herself along with her husband, and promised herself she wouldn't do the same. However, determined as she remained in her efforts to support her family, Gale took on the daunting task of becoming the man of the household. He was there for his siblings in the comforting way that I have been for Prim. Gale and I are similar in many ways; this is why we were always best friends. 

“Katniss, is everything alright?” She asks me, a look of concern upon her face as her eyes search my own. I realize I've been standing here just staring at her for almost a full minute.

I briefly wonder if her worried expression is due to the memory of answering the door like this, just as my mother did, to Special Agents bringing nothing but sorrow. Even though all of her family is safe inside, did my knocking give her chills, the way it sometimes still does me? Did cold, haunting memories surface, terrible deja vu? I mentally scold myself for coming so early without a warning; she surely wasn't expecting company so soon after the return of a squad. Next time I will think things through better.

Her expression has steadily become more tense; I need to stop rambling to myself.

“Yes! Everything is fine, Mrs. Hawthorne,” I say now with a smile. “Is Gale home? Can I come inside?” I continue brightly, wanting to assure her nothing is amiss. Relief visibly washes over her and she puts her hand on her chest. 

“Oh, yes, sweetheart. He's in his room still sleeping. Please, come in. Are you hungry? Breakfast is almost ready,” she tells me, moving aside to let me in.

I give her a smile and walk through the doorway, closing the door behind me. I pass through the kitchen and wave to Gale's siblings. Posy rushes to give me a hug, which I return quickly.

“No, thank you,” I tell Mrs. Hawthorne now, holding up the half eaten apple for her to see. “I'm okay,” I say, tossing what's left of it into the trash. I smile quickly once more at everyone and head for Gale's room.

I don't pause or knock when I reach his door, I simply burst in and shut it behind me. He's sprawled on his back, one arm tucked under his head. His shirt lies on the floor by the bed, and his tanned skin emphasizes the muscles of his arms. I step over the discarded shirt, silently praying he's at least wearing something. 

“Gale!” I say quite loudly as I drop onto the bed next to him.

He grumbles something in his sleep that I can't understand. I begin to bounce on the bed like a child as I attempt to wake him, the excitement flooding through my veins now surfacing. I know my bouncing will annoy him and he'll probably wake in a bad mood, but my joy overrides my trepidation.

“Get up! I have great news!” I exclaim fervently.

Gale cracks one eye open and turns his head to glare at me. 

“Katniss,” he begins dangerously. “What time is it?” he practically growls.

“I don't know,” I reply in a rush. “But listen to this; there are more survivors! The family you rescued knew of them!” I say rapidly, eager to discuss this with him.

His face, however, shows complete disinterest at my announcement. He takes a deep breath and gives me a glare before closing his eyes once more.

“I am going to close my eyes for five seconds, and when I open them again you will be gone,” he says in clear annoyance.

I bite the inside of my cheek, my excitement slowly beginning to fade. I had expected a little more of a reaction from Gale, despite the events of last night. I had hoped that he would share the anticipation I felt; my chance of passing through the city gates was drawing ever nearer. But his attitude is sour and after five seconds he opens his eyes. I'm still sitting on his bed, watching him expectantly.

“We need to talk about this,” I say gently, my eyes holding his steadily.

“Talk about what, Katniss?” He sits up, and I can tell he's extremely irritated now. “What exactly is so important that you have to wake me up this early on our only day off?” his voice is biting, his entire body tense.

He breaks my gaze, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck. He's uncomfortable, I can see it plainly. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and I pause, considering how to proceed.

“Last night. . . I didn't- I mean, I jus-”

“You just what? What, Katniss?” He snaps harshly. I flinch now at his cold tone.

He is addressing me by my real name, not the nickname he affectionately gave me. This proves to me that he's more upset than he's willing to let on, even despite his attitude towards me. This time it's me who looks down and refuses to meet his gaze.

“Look, I don't want things to be weird between us,” I say quietly. “If I led you on, if I let you think my feelings ran deeper than that of family, I'm sorry. I love you Gale; you're my best friend, but that's all,” I finish, my voice barely above a whisper now.

He's silent for a few minutes before I finally gain the courage to glance at his face. He's not looking at me, but his fierce gaze has relaxed; he doesn't even seem angry anymore.

“What are you talking about, Catnip?” He asks, cocking his head to one side as he finally meets my gaze again with a small smile. I raise my eyebrows and stare at him, confused. 

“You're joking, right?” I ask incredulously.

“I walked you home, so what? I do that all the time, what made you think this time was different?” he asks me, somewhat teasingly. I pause, taken by surprise at this sudden change of attitude. 

“Well, you seemed like you were going to try to. . . I don't know, kiss me,” I manage to say rather bluntly.

Gale releases a throaty laugh. I can tell it's forced, that he wants me to believe what happened last night was nothing. I know Gale and I know his game; this is how he acts when he's embarrassed. I know now he's going to try and downplay the entire situation.

“Please, Catnip. Do you know what Madge would do if we kissed?” He asks with an impish grin.

Suddenly now, I'm the one who's annoyed. Mostly at his entire demeanor, and that stupid grin; but also because of Madge's sudden appearance in this conversation.

“Madge? What the hell does Madge have to do with anything?” I ask coldly, glaring at him now.

“Madge and I have been seeing each other; I told you that,” he replies, a small, that irritating grin still playing on his lips; I want to slap that knowing look of his face.

He is trying to make me jealous, I know this. I try desperately not to give him the satisfaction of making me angry, but Gale knows just exactly how to push my buttons, and he knows I don't control my emotions well; I've never been able to. I abruptly push off his bed, rolling my eyes, and stride for the door.

“No,” I say sourly. “I guess you forgot to mention it. You know what, Gale? Go back to sleep; I'm going home,” I finish as I wrench his door open angrily.

“Aw, Catnip, come on! Don't be mad!” He calls after me, but I can hear the laughter clear in his tone. It pisses me off exponentially more.

But he wants me like this; he wants me jealous. I hurt him last night by pulling away from him, and this is him returning the favor. He and Madge haven't been seeing each other; I would remember that detail. I slam the door loudly behind me. 

Suddenly I want to be alone. I don't want to see Prim or my mother, and I don't even want to pass by Gale's family on my way out. I zip my jacket up tightly, pull the hood over my head, and slip silently through the hallway adjacent the kitchen and out the front door. I go to the only place I know I will be alone today, the one place I can always go when I have too much on my mind and need to forget it all. I go to the training center.


	4. Born For This

Hand steady, I turn the throwing knife over once, twice. I press the blade between my thumb and forefinger, eyes fixated on the target yards ahead of me. I don't allow myself to over think it; I hurl the small, deadly knife with all my strength and watch it bury itself to the hilt in the ring furthest from the bullseye. I growl angrily and swear under my breath. I'm still irritated, and it's throwing my aim with a blade off even more than usual. I throw the blade in my other hand to the ground and stomp angrily into the adjoining weapons room to the one thing I never miss with- my bow.

I retrieve a navy blue bow from the rack along the wall. The steel is cold and solid in my hands; I grip it's familiar weight tightly. After pulling down the accompanying quiver of arrows and slinging them over my shoulder, I stride back across the training center, passing the knives station, and enter a large room. It's pitch black inside except for a small, glowing monitor; next to the monitor is a black helmet that completely covers your face. This is one of our newest technologies, and I have yet to try it with anything but my bow. I press a few buttons on the monitor to seal the room and activate the helmet before placing it on my head. 

We call it a simulation. The screen inside the helmet shows a wooded area, and I feel as if I'm actually in the forest. I can hear birds chirping above me for a second or so before they go silent, leaves crunching around me as various animals scatter; my first warnings. Then I hear the low growl of a Hollow. I turn my body, and the view within my helmet swings with me as if I'm truly there.

My fingers run slowly along the length of the bow. I find the power button that transmits and connects with the headset and press it. Taking an arrow from the sheath across my back, I notch it into the bow and lift it, pulling the string taught alongside my cheek. I can see the bow in my sight on the screen within the helmet, and just as I have my bow in position a Hollow bursts through the trees in front of me. Though I know it's not real, that it's unable to hurt me, when he begins his horrible, ungainly walk towards me, I step back instinctively. I let the arrow fly and watch it pierce his head with enough force to send him sprawling onto his back. In real time, my arrow has lodged into the padded walls around the room; this is why we seal the room while engaged in a simulation.

It takes only seconds before I hear the terrible groaning again. I spin around instantly and this time there are two. This throws me off slightly; when I fire my next arrow it hits the first one of Hollows in the chest- not good enough. I begin retreating backwards and load another arrow as I move. This time it finds it's mark and the target hits the ground with a dull thud. The second creature is only feet in front of me now, but I'm quicker than he is with his uneven shuffle. My next arrow is already loaded and before he can take another step, he's dead.

I have no time to catch my breath before an onslaught of hissing hits my ears. I spin around quickly and find myself faced with three more of the creatures. They're already bearing down on me, nearly close enough to grab me if this were real. I withdraw quickly again, putting distance between us. I take a deep breath and reach for my arrows, and snap one into place. 

_Accuracy_. I release the bowstring with a sharp twang and the arrow hits home. The Hollow falls. 

_Speed_. My next arrow flies before the remaining two beasts can drag themselves forward another step. 

_Consistency_. The third arrow buries itself deep inside the last creature's skull.

I lower my bow and breathe deep, closing my eyes. Just as I open my eyes, ready to continue, the simulation shuts off. Confused, I remove the helmet to find the room is bright with solar light. I turn to the door and see Special Agent Crane smiling at me; he must have deactivated the simulation from the outside. I frown slightly, but say nothing.

“As good as ever, I see,” he compliments me.

I wipe sweat from my brow and set the helmet down, drape the bow over my back and cross the room to greet him.

“Agent Crane,” I say as I reach out to shake his hand briefly.

“Miss Everdeen. I have orders to retrieve you,” he replies concisely.

"What for?" I ask curiously, though I believe I already know the answer.

"Snow wants to meet with you," is his short response.

I consider trying to fish more information out of him, but decide against it. If my instincts are correct, and they usually are, this is about the rumored survivors outside the wall. I suspected Snow would send out another search and rescue party from the moment Prim gave me the news. Though I had hopes he would include me in this operation, I am still somewhat surprised. I am a brand new recruit, after all.

“Of course,” I reply to Agent Crane.

We exit the simulation area and I replace my bow and quiver in the weapons room. Agent Crane and I then make our way to the elevators silently. Not a word is spoken between the two of us from then on. What is there to say when we both know what awaits me?

A block later I am following him inside the HQ building. Agent Crane walks me to the elevator here and I enter alone. It takes me to the top floor, and I exit into cool air; the room somehow manages to smell new, though the building itself was constructed years ago. I pull my braid across one shoulder and fiddle with it nervously as I walk to the long, very large marble desk in the center of the room. President Snow's secretary looks up at my approach.

"Miss Everdeen. The President is expecting you," she says kindly. Her tone is not enough to calm my nerves, however.

She rises from her seat and leads me to a door on her right, pressing a button on a keypad on the wall beside it that slides the door open; I enter and the door closes silently. I have only seen President Snow in person a few times. He makes announcements frequently that broadcast on monitors and billboards throughout the city, but rarely visits the training center where I spend the majority of my time. He is taller in person than he seems on screen but on his shirt is pinned the same white rose I always see him with. He looks up at my entrance and smiles at me almost kindly, but it doesn't seem to quite reach his eyes. He gestures to the chair in front of his desk and I sit, perching just on the edge.

"Miss Everdeen, how nice to meet you," he says formally before waving his hand over the small, round projector on the desk in front of him. Instantly a hologram with my entire history is displayed before me.

There are my archery statistics in the left panel, every single recorded one from the training center. Records of my progress in emergency medical class are listed in the right, and videos of me training play at the center of the display. The top of the screen holds my personal information and a brief description of me. I raise my eyebrows, watching the screen curiously. He, too, pauses for a moment to review the file.

"You've recently turned sixteen, am I correct?" He asks with a small smile, as if he isn't aware of the fact.

“Yes, sir,” I answer quietly, fighting the urge fidget or play with my hair.

"Excellent. You've remained at one of the highest ranks in your class throughout your training; excelling in use of the bow from our recordings, quite a rare talent these days. Is that also correct?" he asks.

I nod my affirmation, suddenly unable to find my voice. My fingers begin to tremble and I interlace them tightly, hoping he won't notice. I can feel anxiety bubbling inside; what about this man makes me drop my gaze, wish to be anywhere else, when our eyes meet? Is it because he is the highest in power in Verona? That with his white hair and pale, papery skin, he looks undead in his own way? Or is it simply that I am impatient to know where this meeting is leading? Whatever the cause, I take a deep breath and mentally command myself to relax.

"Good. As you know, sixteen is the age we begin sending soldiers into the field to rescue and bring humans trapped or lost in the wilderness here to safety. And, of course, to thin the Hollows population as much as possible. Our prime goal is, of course, the safety of our people,” he tells me, looking at me intently.

I drink his words in hungrily, though I've heard this propaganda many times before. We all have. It's in all the training work books, we are told it repeatedly by our instructors, and the President always says something of the effect in his broadcasts; this is the general goal in which we all work together to achieve.

"Being that you are so highly ranked and remarkably skilled with the bow, you are as I'm sure you know a prime candidate to be selected now that you are of age,” he continues, his gaze never wavering. There is something unnerving about his pale blue eyes.

I nod once again and force myself to speak before he begins to think there's something wrong with me.

"Of course, sir; I'm aware," I reply quietly.

He regards me in silence for the next few moments, long enough to make begin fidgeting again.

"Do you consider yourself capable of handling any situation or decision you may be forced to do or make outside our walls?" he asks me, eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes me carefully.

"Absolutely," I answer readily. "I've trained my entire life for this; why wouldn't I?" This, at least, is easy to say. If nothing else, I am sure of this fact- I am ready to face the Hollows.

He is quiet again for a moment before speaking.

"It is not as I believe you imagine, Miss Everdeen. Once you are outside the walls, life as you know ceases to exist. Every second you spend outside the safety of our city is a threat to your life, and that is why we must save those stranded there.. Are you prepared to die, Miss Everdeen, to save someone you do not even know?" he asks me, and his unsettling stare and cryptic words send a chill through me.

The image of my father on the field, surrounded by Hollows, giving his life to defend the helpless and save what was left of civilization, flashes before my eyes. I know better than many the dangers of going beyond the wall, but something stirs inside me; a desire to finish what my father died doing.

After a quiet few minutes, I finally answer him in a small but serious voice.

"Believe me, I understand the risks of the field," I begin. "But if you give me the chance, I would give my life to save even a single person who needs my help,” I finish, eyes holding his with a firm determination.

He nods at my reply, smiling slightly as he hands me a black, steel band; a micromic, but we call them micros for short. It's face is square and not much larger than my wrist. I unsnap the outer casing, and upon touching the screen, several options come up; communication, current time and location, a map, and many others. I raise my eyes again to Snow's; these are the bands they give when you leave on an OP so you can remain in contact with HQ and find your way home should you get separated from your squad or lost.

"Miss Everdeen, we have reason to believe there are three people just beyond the state border searching for safety. This is a dire situation, as are they all, but this one in particular. The woman amongst them is believed to be mentally unstable and in need of immediate medical attention. You along with select others will be departing tomorrow to find these lone survivors and escort them back to Verona. Their lives will be in your hands, Miss Everdeen. Remember that. You are responsible for them until they are within the safety of our walls,” he tells me solemnly, and his words settle like a great weight upon my shoulders.

My hands tremble slightly as I strap the micro onto my wrist, but as I glance down at it again I cannot help the small smile that comes to my lips. I meet President Snow's eyes once more.

"You will be sent more information via your micromic. You are to be at the gate at dawn, 0600. I advise you as I do everyone to say your goodbyes tonight; not everyone returns from these OP's, as you well know, Miss Everdeen,” he says to me before pressing a key on the large pad across his desk. I don't see it, but I know the door has slid open silently behind me and I have been dismissed.

"Thank you," I reply with some difficulty, as my mouth has gone dry.

Excited as I am at my first mission, the thought of not returning home leaves me with a hollow, numb feeling that I haven't experienced since the death of my father. The idea that this may be the last time I see my family is so incredulous, so impossible... and yet a very real reality. All the more reason to put up one hell of a fight out there, I suppose.

 

On my way home I consider going to speak to Gale again, but I'm still reeling from his earlier attitude. I feel as though I am not the one who need not apologize, for I did nothing wrong. Though, truthfully, had the situation been reversed I probably would not atone for it, and Gale knows this. “You're too stubborn,” he always tells me. It is hypocritical of me to be angry at him, but I am nonetheless.

I ultimately decide against talking to Gale. I know that I will have my hands full just telling Prim and my mother. I feel only slightly guilty for not telling him that I'm leaving, but my confidence in the success of my OP coupled with my irritation from our argument earlier overshadows my guilt, and I pass by his building without pause. 

It seems like mere moments before I am standing outside our door; I dread telling Prim and my mother. Though they knew this day would come, I know they were hoping for later rather than this soon. Biting my lip anxiously, I flash my tags over the sensor and walk inside.

I shut the door quietly behind me and enter the living room deciding it will be best to inform my mother first. She's seated on the couch, legs curled up beneath her and fingers clasping a steaming mug of coffee. The television is on and she's absorbed in the news. It is scant seconds later that I notice Snow's face on the screen.

“And following the safe return of our last squad and their group of survivors, we have been notified that there are remaining survivors seeking safety close to our borders. And so it is with a fierce determination to restore humanity that I announce the three highly skilled individuals tasked with bringing these citizens to safety,” he intones in a grave voice.

Snow pauses as if for dramatic effect and glances down at a paper in front him; I feel my palms begin to sweat. My mother hasn't yet acknowledged my presence in the room. This is not going to plan. I definitely did not want Snow to break the news to her. He wasted no time in announcing this mission, though with the urgency of the situation, I suppose I understand. That does not mean I wanted my mother to find out like this, though.

“From the Lure class, specializing in speed, endurance, and snares: Finch Crossley,” he announces the first of us.

On the screen flashes a brief video of a girl, possibly a few years older than me, with hair like bright flames dancing over her shoulder as she sprints full speed through a long obstacle course. I have seen her selected before, and she is becoming quite well-known. She weaves in and out of poles protruding from the floor with quick elegance; it looks almost like a dance to her. She never stumbles and her speed never falters. When she pulls to a stop the camera offers a closeup. Her face is narrow, her nose slim, and her eyes are bright blue. After a few moments, her face fades out and is replaced by Snow.

“Next, from the Raiders class, a veteran of our OP's who displays extraordinary axe handling, among other weapons, in combat: Johanna Mason,” he reads the second name off his list.

This girl has short, dark hair, and you can tell just by looking at her that she is not to be fucked with. I know her, as we all do; she's one of the only female Raiders known to Verona, and one of the best at that. She's Raider royalty, as her grandfather was a great Raider, followed by her father as well. On the screen in front of me plays a clip of Johanna wielding her deadly battle axe during simulation training. We can see the targets surrounding her on all sides. She grips the axe tightly in one hand and begins swinging, levering her body around with the weight of the weapon, dealing blow after deadly blow to one target after another until only one is left standing. She then lifts the axe high above her head in both hands and throws it with all of her strength; the blade imbeds to the hilt in her targets face and it falls lifeless to the ground.

I swallow nervously as Snow's face appears once again. I know what's coming, know that I'm next, and there is no chance now to be the one to tell my mother. I'm thankful at least that Prim is not in the room with us. I lean forward, gripping the back of the couch tightly, and brace myself for impact.

“Lastly, from the LRM class, specializing in the rare, difficult to master talent of the bow: Katniss Everdeen,” he says with a fate sealing finality.

And now it's my face on the screen. My dark hair is in it's usual tight braid, draped down over one shoulder. I see myself from a bystander's point of view for the first time as I watch the clip of me training in the hologram room. There are life size, orange holocasts meant to be Hollows, though their bodies are comprised of small, simulated squares. On the screen, I raise my favorite black bow and begin eliminating the holograms with cold, calculated accuracy. Each target explodes into a rain of small squares that disappear as they fall to the ground.

As quickly as it begins the clip is over and Snow has returned.

“This is the brave trio that have been carefully selected to venture beyond our city's safety and rescue the known survivors. To you, we give our support; may the odds be ever in your favor,” he says with the same cool smile he greeted me with, that never quite reaches his eyes.

The screen goes black. After a few seconds, I summon the courage to look down at my mother. She's still facing the television and hasn't glanced up at me. I round the couch and sit down next to her, placing my hands in my lap. I turn my head to face her. It takes her a few moments, but she finally meets my gaze, though her eyes seem slightly unfocused. The air is suddenly thick with tension, and the two feet of space between us feels like an ocean.

“I knew this day would come,” she whispers hoarsely. “And I thought I would be prepared... but I'm not,” her voice breaks with her last words.

I can see her eyes even in the dim light of the room begin to fill with tears. Somewhere inside me lies an instinct that drives me to do whatever possible to take pain the pain away from her, and my hand quivers; my natural reaction is to take hers, to pull her close and promise her everything will be okay. But every time I look at her I see the woman who abandoned me. The woman who then chose Prim over me, who couldn't even look at me for weeks, the time when I needed her the most, and broke a bond between us that could never be fully repaired.

I keep my hands folded in my lap as I reply.

“I'm prepared- know that,” I tell her softly, as gently as I am capable of with her.

“Of course you are,” she mutters quietly. “You are exactly like your father, Katniss, and that is why I fear for you so much,” she says, and now bitterness laces her tone slightly. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes as I exhale.

“Don't worry, Mother. Everything is going to be fine. But-”

“No 'buts', Katniss. I can't handle that,” she cuts me off sternly.

“No, you listen,” I can argue just as fiercely. “Should anything happen, anything at all, don't you dare turn your back on Prim, not even for even a second. Do you understand me? You have to take care of her no matter what happens,” I demand this of her; nothing else will do.

She's quiet. I know the guilt from her actions eats at her every day; devouring her. Like old times, she looks away from me. After a few moments I realize she's crying and trying to hide it. Natural instinct takes way and this time I give in to it, sliding across the couch and putting my arm around her shoulders. Because I'm not like her; I am more like my father, and I can't sit back and watch my family hurt and do nothing.

“Mom,” I say more gently this time, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze. “Please, don't cry. I'll be okay. I will, honestly,” I say to her.

“Promise me,” she says, turning her already red rimmed eyes to mine. “Whatever happens, no matter where you find yourself, please; find your way home. I can't lose you too, Katniss. I just can't,” she is sobbing again now, and my heart constricts in my chest at her fear.

“Nothing could keep me from you and Prim. I promise,” I swear to her solemnly.

“You promise what?” Prim's voice interrupts from the doorway.

She notices our mother crying and rushes around the couch, dropping to her knees before us. Her eyes are wide and fearful as she looks back and forth between mother and me.

“Prim, come here,” I say, motioning her to sit next to me. She does so reluctantly, and I put my free arm around her shoulders as I begin to speak.

“Snow received the same information you told me earlier, about the stranded survivors; he's decided to include me in the rescue squad being sent for them,” I tell her firmly.

“But you just turned sixteen! Tell them no!” she shouts, visibly upset. “Make them send someone else!” she continues, eyes begging this of me, this one thing I can't give her.

“I've already accepted the orders, Prim. I can't turn them down now,” I reply, hating to hurt her, but I have no other choice.

She covers her face with her hands and falls back against the couch. She, unlike our mother, doesn't begin crying. She knew and accepted that this day would come from an early age. I think, too, she knew that I've been waiting eagerly to be sent out.

“It's so soon, though,” she whispers, and I know that though she accepts it, she still wishes deep in her heart for another option.

“I've finished training. Will it really matter if I leave tomorrow or next year?” I say to her, leaning forward to brush a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Tomorrow?” she exclaims in shock.

“At dawn,” I respond quietly.

We're all silent now. I know what they're thinking; it's not lack of trust in my ability, it's simply fear of the unknown; never knowing when a Hollow may appear, or how many. And it takes so little to lose your life; just a scratch and it's all over. The threat is great, but the reward is greater; it will take a perfect balance of intelligence, skill, and determination.

After only a few moments our silence is broken by a muffled beeping. I remove my arm from around my mother's shoulders and glance down at the micro on my wrist. I flip the cover up, and on the screen is a message for Finch, Johanna and I. It's a list and description of the three survivors we will be searching for. I read the list, the excitement finally beginning to set in. Tomorrow, it begins.

  
Anticipated Survivors

Cresta, Annie  
(mentally unstable, at high risk)  
Height: 5'3”  
Weight: 121 lbs  
Eye Color: Green  
Hair Color: Brown

Odair, Finnick  
Height: 5'10”  
Weight: 157 lbs  
Eye Color: Green  
Hair Color: Bronze

Mellark, Peeta  
Height: Approx. 6'0”  
Weight: Approx. 180 lbs  
Eye Color: N/A  
Hair Color: Dark blond/brown


	5. Nothing Left to Lose

Dinner is a silent affair that night, and I am thankful for an opportunity to leave early when I receive a message on my micro to meet at the training center at half past eight. Upon my arrival I notice Johanna, Finch, Snow, and Agent Crane are all in attendance. Being that I'm the last to arrive, all eyes turn to me as the doors to the training center slide silently open.

"Thank you, Miss Everdeen, for finally joining us," Agent Crane says coolly, his eyes piercing me accusingly.

'I'm right on time; it's not my fault they were early,' I think to myself in annoyance. Deciding it best to swallow my reply, I fall silently in line next to Johanna and Finch. The air is thick with the tension radiating from us all; I'm nervous again now

"We've called you here to brief you on your mission once more," Agent Crane begins. "Once beyond Verona, it is imperative that you work together. Your interaction with each other has at best been limited until now; you're unfamiliar with each other. Heed my warning; if you cannot work as a team, your odds of survival diminish rapidly," he tells us flatly. His words echo in my head as the reality sets in.

These girls, Johanna and Finch, each hold my life in their hands, but I've spoken precious few words to them in the entirety of my life. There is no time for a proper introduction, no chance to get to know them; we are being thrown into the devil's den on the fragile hope we can band together and not only survive, but protect others as well.

"Your objective is to find the trio of survivors," Snow begins speaking, glancing down at a small micropad in his hands. "Primarily Annie Cresta, as she's been deemed mentally unstable upon our intelligence. From what we've gathered, she is no threat. Her. . . issues lie mostly in her head. She appears to suffer from severe post traumatic stress disorder, including extreme paranoia and anxiety. She's calm, we've been told, as long as she's with. . ." he glances back down here at the micropad, then back up at us. "Finnick Odair. Apparently he keeps her calm, but no one else can," he says. Something about his manner seems off now, shifty; why is he so interested in this crazy girl?

"Which brings me to my next point: Finnick Odair. Our intel reports he is incredibly protective of Annie; if you present yourself on the offensive he will perceive you as a threat and attack. When you find them be careful to show that you are there to help them, not hurt them," he finishes. Is it my imagination, or is he being careful to not look in our eyes? There's a long pause as if he's finished talking, and finally Johanna voices the question we're all wondering.

"What about Peeta Mellark?" she asks hesitantly. Snow sighs and drops the hand holding the micropad.

"Not much is known about him. We have no reason to believe he will be violent, but as information on him is scarce I advise you to take extra caution when approaching him. As with Finnick, don't present yourself as a threat. Do so, and I foresee no complications," Snow tells us.

Once again, I can't help but feel something is off. How is it that they know so much about Annie and Finnick, but not Peeta? When the three of them all met the family who gave us this information? A thought drifts through my mind, teasing my curiosity. Will Peeta be the challenge? I can't help the excitement I feel at the idea. I've delved deep into thoughts about this mysterious boy when Agent Crane interrupts my reverie.

"A few things to remember once you're beyond the walls: Finch, keep your squad and the vehicle within sight at all times. Do not run where you can't see Johanna and Katniss, and, for the love of God, don't lose the vehicle this time," he directs at her, along with a sharp glare.

Finch huffs and looks at the ground. I glance at her briefly and notice her face is red with anger rather than embarrassment. I remember the incident Agent Crane is referring to; on her last OP, Finch drew the Hollows so far from the vehicle that she got lost. I heard it took them two hours to find her; arrogance is not a tolerable trait outside the wall.

"Katniss, your job is to protect Johanna and Finch from a distance. You have to balance watching the two of them and the Hollows simultaneously. Remember, if your arrow misses, it could mean their life. Shoot straight," he tells me, and I nod sharply in assent. He turns to Johanna now with a somewhat cocky smile that she instantly returns.

"Mason, make sure these two don't die."  


***

"That old bastard doesn't know what he's talking about," Finch spits angrily as she, Johanna and I leave the training center with strict orders to be at the gates at 0600. As we walk away, the arguing escalates.

"That old bastard, as you so haughtily called him, is one of the best Agents in this city," Johanna snaps back at her, giving her a fierce look of disapproval. Finch snorts rudely at this.

"If he's so great, why is he training us instead of going out there and proving it?" she retorts, tossing her flame red hair over her shoulders disdainfully.

"That's why he trains us; because he's the best," Johanna counters. She's now eying Finch with an extreme look of dislike.

This is what I have to look forward to; the bickering of my team. Suddenly I'm not as confident in the teamwork aspect of our mission. A small part of me wants to dampen the fire of their disagreement, but a larger part is annoyed that they couldn't even get along for five minutes.

"We don't even leave until tomorrow and you two are already going at it? This is a pretty shitty way to start things off; cool it. We have a job to do, don't forget that." I tell them in annoyance, shaking my head in amazement as I walk brusquely, eager to get away from them and in my bed. Someone grabs my elbow and yanks me back though, whipping me around to face them.

"Listen here, rookie," Finch begins dangerously, inches from my face. "When we want your opinion, we'll yank your chain. Until then, shut the fuck up," she snarls before roughly shoving me away. I'm surprised at her violent reaction, but my first instinct isn't to cower; it's to fight back. Gale has always told me that will get me in trouble some day.

"Coming from the 'professional' who got lost on her last OP? Oh, that's rich," I snap back, refusing to back any farther away from her. I'm not afraid of her in the slightest, and I won't let her think for a second that she intimidates me.

Finch flushes a deep red and glares at me hotly. I can see the battle raging in her eyes as she sets her mouth in a pinched little sneer; continue to argue, or go home and let it rest? She decides on the latter and spins on her heel, stomping down a street to our left. I look back at Johanna; she is following Finch's retreat with eyes full of venom. I know she won't provide me with any reassurances for tomorrow, so without saying another word I also turn and continue my path home. As I walk, my thoughts drift once more to the enigmatic Peeta Mellark.  


***

"Do you have to take anything with you to the gates?" My mother asks me, nervously wringing her hands.

"No, they'll provide me with everything. The only thing I have to bring is, well, myself," I say, attempting a small smile; it feels forced.

I stand before my mother and Prim in the entryway to our home. My mother is afraid I will make a costly mistake, being that this is my first run. Prim is worried that my determination to succeed will send me into an early grave, much like my father's did. My only worry is that I fail to rescue the survivors.

"I guess this is it," my mother says finally, resignation plain in her tone; I look away as her eyes fill with tears that threaten to spill over.

Light is beginning to peak through the windows as the sun rises. This is it, I think, my stomach twisting into painful knots.

I'm dressed in the standard uniform: heavy black boots buckled to my knees, tight, flexible pants with numerous pockets of varying size, and a snug black v-neck. Everything fits intimately against my body to minimize snagging in the vast woodlands. I take the tags from around my neck and hand them to my little sister, who is looking up at me and chewing nervously on her bottom lip.

"Why give me this?" She asks in a small voice, and I can hear the slight tremor in her voice. In case I don't return, I think, but I don't tell her that.

"In case you lose yours, you can use mine; I won't be needing it," I say instead, trying and failing to sound unaffected. The excuse sounds thin to my own ears, and I know my sister is intelligent enough to understand my true motives. She gives me a knowing look before dropping her gaze to hide the fear and sadness she can't control. She's hiding it so as to not upset our mother further.

It's in this moment that I realize how far beyond her years Prim is. It breaks my heart knowing Prim will be the head of this house when I leave, and that if I die, it won't be my mother consoling her daughter. It will be a child, once again, picking up the broken pieces off the ground and gluing her back together.

"We'll walk you to the gates," Prim says softly, reaching out and taking my hand.

Though the walk is short, it feels agonizingly slow. Citizens of Verona have gathered on the streets to see us off. It's an euphoric moment as I pass by them and know I am no longer a trainee; I'm an official Long Range Marksman of Verona. The Long Range Marksman, today. All eyes are on me as we make our way down the street. I feel my face redden at the attention; I am proud, but the stares make me uncomfortable.

Barricades forbid civilians from venturing too close to the gates. A few Raiders and LRM's stand guard should anything go awry. It's here that I must say my final goodbyes; my family is not permitted to pass through the barricades, either. It's a safety protocol. As I turn to address Prim and my mother, my eyes scan the crowd one final time for Gale. I was sure he would forget our argument and come to congratulate me, wish me luck, or at least say goodbye. However, I apparently won't be graced with his presence this morning. Though the crowd around us is large and my family is here, I feel somewhat alone.

"Be careful, Katniss. I love you," says my mother as she pulls me into an embrace. I can feel her body tremble and I pat her back gently, if somewhat awkwardly, to reassure her. I pull back after a few moments, uncomfortable with the prolonged contact.

"I love you too," I tell her simply.

I turn to my sister, delicate yet so strong, and wrap her tiny body in a fierce hug. I never want to let go.

"I love you. I'll be back in no time, I promise," I whisper softly to her, stroking her fair hair gently.

"Please, be careful," she whispers on a choked sob. "I love you so much, Katniss." she says, voice breaking. My face feels hot and my eyes burn as I blink back tears. Though I want this so badly, letting her go is hard. But I gather my strength, take a deep breath, and pull away from my sister's warm embrace. I rest my hands on her shoulders and reassure her once more.

"I'll be back," I say firmly. Conviction is important.

She nods at me solemnly and I kiss her forehead, ruffle her bangs ever so slightly. I smile at my mother, give her hand a small squeeze; then I turn and let them go.  


***

"Your weapons are over here, Miss Everdeen."

My eyes travel in the direction of the voice before my feet follow. As I take in the weapons I'm to be equipped with, I realize it's going to take a few minutes to gear up. First, I strap on the protective vest. On the front, across the breast, are two small pockets, containing a matching set of brass knuckles. I fervently hope I'm never unarmed and close enough to a Hollow that I will resort to these.

Also over the vest, crisscrossing between the pockets, are straps that hold an impressive array of small to large knives and daggers. They loop all the way from the edge of my shoulders to the backs of my hips, with the larger blades resting lower.

Next, a strap goes around both my upper thighs where two handguns are securely holstered against each leg. Two matching ammunition belts are slung low on my hips, crossing over with my steel. I tuck two more long, deadly blades inside either of my boots; they slide into the sewn in sheath. Everything we wear is designed with weaponry in mind.

Then, I'm given a sleek black jacket, matte in color and made from a sturdy synthetic material. The inside is lined with black fur, and the large hood is attached at the base of the collar, and is designed to rest flat across your shoulders until you need it. The molded collar is high to protect my neck, and when I open the jacket there are two more sewn in sheaths; these are curved to hold deadly scimitars, and as I fasten the jacket back up they lay atop each other, curving along the inside of my breasts.

Lastly, my greatest weapon is given to me; my sleek bow and large quiver of arrows. They are hard, solid steel and bone white; upon closer inspection I see my initials plainly carved at the bottom of the bow. They must officially be mine. I swell with pride and slide my arms into the straps of the quiver, adjust them to fit tight across my shoulders, and then sling the bow across it.

"One more thing," says the Agent administering my weapons to me. He pulls out a handful of arrows so small, they must be barely an inch in length.

"Our newest invention," he grabs the tiny arrowhead and pulls; the arrow extends to full length. He then twists the arrowhead and I hear an audible click as the middle locks into place. "So you can carry more than just what will fit in your sheath," he tells me grimly.

He presses two fingers to the middle of the arrow and squeezes the lock out of place, twists the arrowhead once more and pushes it back into it's compact, one inch size. I put handfuls of these arrows in the extra pockets of my jacket and thank him earnestly before turning and striding over to the vehicle where Johanna and Finch are waiting.

The vehicle is massive. Black and built out of the same impervious metal as the city walls, it rolls on four huge, all terrain wheels that look as though they could tackle a mountain, and there is a sliding window at the top solely for me. We'll have room to spare in this behemoth for the trio we're in search. As I approach my squad their squabbling voices hush and they turn their attention to me.

"Ready to go, rookie?" Finch says with a nasty smirk.

"Oh, lay off, Foxface," Johanna snaps with a roll of her eyes. "You were a rookie once too," she is staring at Finch in great distaste now. It's obvious from her manner that she doesn't think Finch is as good as she claims to be. This is public knowledge about Foxface, as everyone refers to her, though; no one thinks she is as great as she believes herself to be.

I don't take the bait of Foxface's argument. I ignore her, much to her annoyance, and lean my back against the door of our vehicle, waiting for our signal to pass through the city gates. As if on cue, Snow approaches us, hands tucked behind his back as usual.

"Is everything in order?" He asks us, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir. We're all set and ready to go," Johanna answers, slapping her hand on the hood of the vehicle.

Snow leans in close and gestures for us to crowd tightly near him. He pulls out his micropad and swipes his fingers over it a few times, touches a few spots on the screen. Instantaneously, all three of our mics vibrate against our wrists. We flip open the protective casing and two, revolving holographic images rise up from the screen.

"This is Annie and Finnick, two of the ones you are looking for," Snow tells us.

They're closeups, almost like mugshots. I'm struck momentarily by Finnick's handsome features; chiseled cheekbones and his clear, bright green eyes in particular. Annie's eyes, on the other hand, are wild even in her photo. They too are a vivid green, but they're wide and unfocused, and her expression is like a deer in the headlights; as if she didn't want her picture taken. After contemplating their images for a few moments, I realize there's no photo of Peeta.

"How do you have pictures of Annie and Finnick?" I blurt out before I can stop myself, burning now with curiosity about Peeta.

Snow's eyes grow dark, colder than ever before, and he pierces me with a look that will stop me short of asking questions of this sort in the future.

"That is on a need-to-know basis, Miss Everdeen, and you do not need to know," he answers in a deadly, dangerous voice. "Focus on your task like you were trained to do; find them, and bring them safely here," he says, and the way he sneers the word trained makes me want to smack him across the face. I stifle the urge and avert my gaze so he doesn't see the hostility burning in my eyes.

I can tell by Johanna's expression that this has never happened before; they've never had photos to go by. She, too, is baffled and confused, but wiser than me as she keeps her mouth firmly shut. She catches my eye and shakes her head ever so slightly; I let the subject drop and no more is said, but the question lingers amidst us quite plainly.

"Now," Snow says, trying to lighten the mood as he dangles keys in our face. "Who's driving?"

"I am," Finch and Johanna answer simultaneously.

They're glaring at each other once again. Snow hands the keys over to Johanna, as she's the only true veteran here. Finch crosses her arms childishly and refuses to meet Snow's gaze, pouting.

"Keep your micromics protected so you can always remain in contact with HQ. Should anything go awry, notify us immediately. Understood?" he asks, gazing at us all in turn.

We all nod in agreement, even Finch who's eyes are still locked on her scuffed boots.

"Excellent," he says with a smile, clapping his hands rather jovially. "Be on your way then, and remember: may the odds be ever in your favor," Snow finishes. Somehow, the sentiment sounds sinister. He turns and walks away.

Slowly, I pull the bow over my shoulder and open the door to the vehicle. This is it. No more confinement; freedom, I think excitedly. Johanna swings the keys around her finger and rests her axe over her shoulder. She grins somewhat smugly at Finch as she walks around the front of the car and climbs in the drivers seat. Just as I make to follow her inside, Finch smiles suddenly and turns to face me.

"Oh, Katniss," she says sweetly, though her eyes are alight with bitterness. "I'm ever so curious about the fallout between you and Gale. Enlighten me with details, please," she asks, voice dripping with syrupy venom.

"How do you-" I begin furiously, but she interrupts me.

"How do I know?" Her eyes narrow and her wide smile turns into a snicker. "Well, he didn't show up to say goodbye to you. . . oh! And, I almost forgot," she is laughing now, shaking her head as if her next statement is common knowledge and I'm a fool for not knowing. "Gale was offered the Lure position on this OP, but he turned it down. Isn't that hilarious? What do you think made him do that?" She is struggling to speak now through her laughter.

All I can do is stare blankly at her. She's lying. She has to be lying.

"I don't believe you," I say quietly, refusing to believe her. Her smile is sinister and she lets out a chuckle, shaking her head once more.

"Oh, Katniss. You can see a bullseye from a hundred yards away but you can't even see the truth when it slaps you in the face."

She cocks her head to the side, getting far too much amusement out of my dumbfounded expression. Still laughing at me under her breath, she climbs into the vehicle and shuts the door in my face. I allow myself scant seconds to fume, swearing to myself that it doesn't matter even though I know it does. It matters more than almost anything ever has in my short life. I curse and wrench the door open violently, shove my bow in the vehicle and climb in after it, slam the door behind me and sentence myself to silence for the remainder of the trip. I know now; being friends with these two, or at least Finch, is not an option. And this OP already can't be over soon enough.


	6. Let the Flames Begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! I'm so sorry it took me a month to update. I started a new job and have been seriously lacking extra time, and so has my beta.  
> I really hope you liked this chapter! :) Leave a review and let me know what you think.

We drive for hours in an agonizingly boring silence. After steaming about Gale for far too long, I finally turn my thoughts to our potential survivors; Finnick, Annie, and, of course, Peeta.

“Hey,” I begin, my voice rough from remaining quiet so long. I clear my throat nervously before continuing. “Johanna, what do you think is going on with these images? Have they ever had them of anyone else before?” I inquire, somewhat hesitant to ask this after the reaction I received from Snow.

She's quiet, as if sifting through a million thoughts to find the right answer. Finally, she says, “No, this is the first time we've been given images. It doesn't make sense to me; I don't understand how they could have possibly gotten pictures of them,” she says, shaking her head resolutely as though confirming this to herself as well.

“Well, they were tipped off by other people; it's possible the other survivors took their picture,” Foxface throws her opinion in, graciously uncalled for. Johanna cuts her eyes at Foxface in annoyance, shaking her head. 

“With what camera? They're from the wild, dumbass; they don't have electronics.”

“Well, bitch, let's hear you come up with something better,” Foxface snaps angrily. I repress the urge to roll my eyes and attempt to mediate.

“Can we focus, please? Maybe someone from the rescue squad took them. . . but then why don't we have one of Peeta? Did either of you notice that there's hardly any information on him. . .” my voice trails off as I contemplate the data on my micro once more.

“Blond or brown hair, eye color unknown,” Foxface begins, reading his description off her micro. “Approximately 6 feet. Damn! I do love tall men!” She exclaims excitedly, squirming in her seat. I see Johanna in the rear view mirror not bothering to hide her own eye roll now. For some unknown reason, Foxface's comment annoys me. I bite my tongue against a cutting remark and simmer quietly as she prattles on about him to us. Finally, leaving me content, she switches to Finnick. I cross my arms and lean back in mys eat, gazing out the window and allowing my thoughts to drift as Foxface drones on.

“Green eyes, oh, I love green eyes! Now this is one I want to rescue,” she practically purrs, eyes devouring his holographic photo. I am unable to repress my snort of derision now, but Foxface doesn't seem to hear me over her steady gushing.

“Protective as he is over Cresta, I'm sure you won't get the time of day from him; probably too in love with her,” Johanna says in a tight voice. It's obvious that she is equally fed up with our companion as well.

“Let me think. . . an unstable idiot or a soldier? As if that's a hard choice. Anyway, men can't refuse red heads; kissed by fire, we are,” she says with an arrogant toss of her flaming red locks. Johanna glances at her briefly before returning her eyes to the road.  
“Shouldn't you wear your hair in a different style when you're out on a mission? You're a Lure; what if one of them gets too close and gets hold of it?” she tells her, and I notice now that Johanna's hair is wound in a tight bun at the top of her head; simple, efficient, and very Johanna. I agree with her on this; Foxface's hair is a potential hazard, one more example of her arrogance. She doesn't seem to appreciate the criticism, however.

“I don't recall asking for your opinion, sweetheart, nor do I intend to. I've kept myself alive this long because I'm that damn good; it's not my problem if you need to play it a little safer,” she snaps waspishly with another toss of her long hair. Johanna and I roll our eyes, and I train my eyes on the outside world once more in an attempt to block out Foxface's increasingly irritating voice.

“I don't think 'idiot' is the appropriate word. Being 'mentally unstable' doesn't make her stupid, it makes her sick and in need of medical attention. My guess is she has severe PTSD from living in the wild, and who knows what else she's seen,” Johanna argues, and I sigh internally. Here we go again.

The two hot heads are off into a disagreement about Annie Cresta, and I do my best to ignore them; the sky is a beautiful blanket of purple fading into pink as the sun begins to set. The air becomes steadily chillier, permeating the vehicle, and Johanna turns on the heater eagerly. The world blurs by outside as we speed down a bumpy, broken highway. Other than the overflowing trees and tall grass, our surroundings are deserted. We've run into no Hollows so far, which is somewhat disappointing. I thought by now we would have passed at least one or two. So far though, nothing.

Johanna flips up the cover of her micro and checks our location. Though slowly coming closer to the city, we're still many miles out. I begin to fidget anxiously in my seat, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life – or the undead. My disappointment is reaching it's peak when Foxface's voice pulls my attention from my own window to the windshield in front.

“Here come the crazies!” She exclaims excitedly, rising slightly out of her seat in anticipation.

My heart is racing as I lean forward between the two front seats, eager for my first real sighting. Just yards ahead of us is a pack of around twenty; stumbling about, traveling in circles amongst one another with no true sense of direction. 

The vehicle's engine idles loudly as Johanna jerks to a stop. No sooner than we become still, every Hollow's head snaps up and targets us. Their mouths hang open hungrily, and their loud hissing can be heard already – it fills my ears and causes a tremor in my hands to begin. Though I've seen them hundreds of times in simulations and holograms, seeing them in the flesh sends goosebumps down my arms.

What's left of their skin is a dull, mottled gray with horrible black and green patches of rotting flesh. Their hair is lifeless, colorless, and stringy; matted to their skulls and bones by years of disease and inattention. But it is their eyes that startle me the most; glassy, bulging, and stark white with hardly any pupil or irises. Some of their bones are bent at odd angles, as if broken before they turned; in the worst cases, their heads are hanging unnaturally to the side, partially severed by the missing chunks of flesh. Worse, the skin is literally sliding off their faces, revealing the skull beneath; bare, rotting teeth and molding, cracked bones. My hands begin shaking harder with the nervous anxiety. Johanna presses a control on the dash and the hatch in the roof slides open.

“Foxface, you're on,” she says, hardly glancing at the redhead. Foxface has already positioned herself to leap from the car. She pauses briefly and aims a glare over her shoulder at Johanna. 

“I'm not the rookie here. Give the baby directions – I know what I'm doing,” she says.

“Okay! Whatever! Just fucking go before they close in on the car!” Johanna shouts impatiently, throwing her hands up in the air. She continues muttering a slew of curse words under her breath as, seconds later, Foxface snarls and throws open her door, vaulting away from the vehicle, barely bothering to use her momentum to slam the door shut behind her.

Mere moments later and the pack is after her, scenting her on the air and tracking her progress with their inhuman gaze. The hissing grows louder, and they're extending their arms to grab her, making wild, snatching motions though they're still feet away. Sweat begins to pool on my forehead, and I wipe it away with the back of my jacket hurriedly; the sound of their groaning unnerves me, sends chills up my spine. I grab my bow, anxious to be armed in such close proximity to these lifeless monsters, and edge forward until I'm barely perched on the seat, my blood thrumming through my veins.

Foxface has sprung into action; she sticks her fingers to her lips and whistles shrilly at them, hungry for their attention and entirely unaffected by the fact that they're eager to devour her. She sidesteps away from the vehicle and allows the Hollows to close the distance between them. She's being arrogant again; it was never part of her training to let them in so close. One single misstep could be fatal and would end her life.

Just when I think her feet are stuck in place, the Hollows almost close enough to grab, she spins on her heel and sprints. They kick into gear now, running after her in their horrible, ungainly fashion. They are becoming more and more riled; running in packs does that to them. Foxface leads them away from the car and as the last one passes without pause, Johanna opens her door quietly.

“Take your position and guard me well, rookie. That's a big pack, and they're starving,” Johanna tells me sternly, glaring at me briefly before leaping out of the vehicle lithely and swinging the door shut behind her.

I waste no time watching to see her catch up to Foxface and the pack. I thrust my bow through the hole above me and hoist my upper half up after it. I brace my feet on the wide shoulders of the two front seats and turn my body so I'm facing the pack to my right. Below me, yards away, they're snarling and closing in on Finch, who's running them in wide circles. Coming up behind the pack is Johanna, who is introducing her deadly axe's to the skulls of the ones lagging behind; legs too broken and rotted to run.

It takes only moments for the Hollows to catch Johanna's scent, and part of the pack comes to an abrupt halt, veering on her, while the rest continue after Foxface. Unfazed, she continues to slice her way through them with an unwavering accuracy. I pull an arrow from it's sheath and ready my bow, silently calculating where to strike first. I notice one off to her side that has yet to catch Johanna's attention, and I'm about to let my arrow fly when I notice this Hollow was once a child.

I freeze, my breath hitching in my chest, and lower my arrow fractionally. The small Hollow's head barely tops Johanna's waist; she's wearing a dress that's faded from time, dirt, and blood, shredded from wear and barely hanging onto her. What catches my attention most, though, is the two large gashes she bears, part of her initiation into this horrifying disease. Her right cheek has been entirely ripped out, bits of meaty flesh and muscle dangling from her face. Just below that, her throat has been torn open, chunks missing so that her head falls to the right as she drags her feet forward. Blood black as midnight has crusted around her lips, and her unnerving gaze is wide, focused only on her prey.

“Katniss!” Johanna shouts angrily as more Hollows bear down on her.

But I'm unable to move, unable to think about anything except that this Hollow was a child; a little girl with a mother, father, and a life, however short. I think of Prim, and how this could easily be her with a stranger staring at her remorselessly and putting an arrow through her skull.

“Don't just stand there! Quit being a little bitch, shoot them!” Johanna screams, her voice raw. She's breathing more raggedly now, energy flagging quickly under the onslaught.

The little girl is next to Johanna now, mouth opening eagerly as she howls hungrily, and before I can regain my mental strength, Johanna lets out a savage growl and buries her sharp blade in the small Hollow's head. She jerks the axe from the girl's skull and blood splatters her face as it falls, finally lifeless at her feet. Without a second thought, she turns to the other Hollows and begins swinging again.

Pull yourself together! I mentally scream at myself. They're not human. They're just animals. Though I tell myself this over and over, I can't quite grasp it. Though they don't look like us anymore, I know they once did. They were all human like us before they were turned. But I know that if I ever want to see my family again, this has to be done. Far too many lives have been lost to these monsters, to this disease, and once-human or not, if the madness doesn't end we will all be devoured by it.

I pull my bow's string tight and aim for a Hollow yards away, one that's still chasing Finch but is getting alarmingly close. She seems to be fumbling in her vest for something, probably some type of small trap she can assemble quickly to give herself a break. They're still running, but her circles are growing larger and she's far enough away that I'm worried for my aim. I lower the bow for only a second to crawl completely through the sunroof and stand with my feet flat on top of the car for a better view, pulling the arrow back in place immediately.

The string bites my fingers, anxious to be released, and I rest my hand on my cheek as I take aim. If I miss I could hit Finch, and that would be fatally disastrous. I have no other option other than perfect and absolute accuracy. I take a deep breath, and as I exhale I'm ready to release the arrow when I hear something behind me; hissing, and groaning. It's too close, not coming from any of the Hollows engaging Johanna. I'm about to glance over my shoulder at the sound when something slams into the vehicle.

The car lurches to the side, my balance is lost immediately, and I surge forward. There is a moment as the ground rushes up to meet my face that I realize the imminent danger I'm suddenly in, but before anything further can register in my mind I hear the crack of my head as I slam into the dirt and my world goes momentarily black. Precious seconds later, my eyes fly open.

“Johanna,” I try to call out, but my voice is hardly above a raspy whisper. Dirt fills my nostrils and mouth, and I choke as I try desperately to regain the air that was forced from my lungs. I taste blood, sharp and metallic, as it pours from my nose and mouth. My head is spinning and I can't get a sense of direction, can't even figure out in which direction the vehicle is. I push my head off the ground groggily and my world tilts as pain reverberates through my temples. I groan in agony and try to pull myself to my feet, but the fall has dizzied me and I can't see straight. My very vision seems to be echoing, and everything is doubled and hazy. I call for Johanna and Foxface again, but even I can't hear my voice.

Instead, I hear the eerie hissing of the Hollows as their attention turns to the easy prey struggling on the ground. Adrenaline rushes through my veins now like fire, and I scramble awkwardly to crawl clumsily underneath the vehicle to the other side where I force myself to my feet. I see the creatures round the front of the car, the ghostly white of their eyes devouring me already. What little oxygen I have in my lungs freezes and my body goes cold with terror. I try to pull my bow up, but my vision is still swimming and I know I can't aim.

In the horror of my fight or flight moment, I panic and begin to stumble away from them, attempting to run. My body collapses forward as I struggle to stay on my feet, barely catching myself with my palms before my face can slam into the ground once more. The fall seems to steady me somehow, though, bringing everything into sharper focus, and I stumble to my feet once again; this time when I run I am centered. The battle soon fades into silence behind me as I sprint for the growth of trees just ahead of me. Branches and leaves bite at my face as I tear through the woods, anxiety and desperation fueling me, urging me on. Beneath the cover of the leaves this forest is dark as night and the creatures chasing me disturb the heavy silence with their hungry groans.

As I delve deeper into the forest, my senses begin to slowly return, but my panic only increases – I can hear them. They're fueled by my scent and hot on my trail like a pack of feral animals; starving and clawing at the bit for just a taste. I'm unsure how many there are. Five? Seven? Ten? Too many to take on at once. The ground is speckled here and there with light from the moon shining through patches in the branches overhead; it occurs to me how long I have been running, how deep in the forest I must be. 

I can barely see in the dim light, and my strength is flagging. I stumble once, twice, and then feel my foot catch on something twisting up from the forest floor. I fly forward, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. My breath leaves my lungs in a painful gasp and I struggle to my feet as I try desperately to suck oxygen back into my body. I'm not quick enough in efforts, though. The forefront runner of the pack reaches me and my fingers shake, my nerves shot, as I pull a knife from the crisscrossing straps across my chest. He is on me mere moments later, and I release a desperate, hoarse cry as I drive the knife into his skull, directly between his dead eyes. His body goes slack against my arm and I shove his decrepit body off me, disgusted; the blade releases from his head with a sickening, sucking sound. Finally, my breathing is controlled again and I'm moving once more. I fumble to put my blade away quickly, my feet moving again before I can think clearly. The others are close now, too close. I need to act immediately or I will die.

My ears are filled with the hissing and growling of the Hollows behind me, and in my half-crazed mind I can almost feel their hands grabbing the back of my jacket, jerking me to the ground, ripping me apart. I can smell the rotting flesh falling from their bones clearer than ever before; they are practically on top of me now. I force myself to breathe through my mouth and think. Think! My heart is racing, my feet are numb from running. I know I can't keep going much longer, so I do the only thing I can think of – my last resort. I leap to the nearest tree and begin climbing as swiftly as possible. 

Bony hands claw at my boots and one gets a solid grip and pulls, dragging me down a several inches. My hands tear open as I desperately cling to the tree, trying futilely to climb back up. I kick fiercely, thrashing and jerking as much as I can without losing my hold. A scream of fear and despair is torn from my throat, and with one last mighty lunge upwards I free my foot and pull myself onto the lowest branch. I don't allow myself time to catch my breath, instead climbing further up the tree, eager to put as much distance as possible between myself and the savage Hollows. Finally, when I'm four large branches up, I sit and lean my back against the wide of the tree. I close my eyes and try to block out the screeching of the animals below me. I'm safe, for now.

I take deep breaths, trying to slow my rapid heartbeat. I pull my sleeve down over my hand and begin wiping gingerly at the now dry blood caked beneath my nose, on my mouth and covering my chin. I pinch my nose gently, wincing slightly at the contact. It doesn't feel cracked or broken, I just gave it a good slam earlier. I feel a gash on my chin, and small cuts on my cheek from the gravel in the dirt. The blood has ceased to flow now, though the evidence of my accident remains on the front of my clothes.

I squint in the direction I came from and wonder if Johanna and Finch made it out alive, as I barely managed. The moon has risen high in the sky now, and the darkness envelopes me. I can't see very far from where I sit. I strain my ears trying to hear any sign of my squad, but I've run much too far. As it's too dark to shoot the Hollows snarling at the base of my tree, I lean my head back against the rough bark and close my eyes, attempting to rest. I silently pray that Johanna and Finch will come looking for me and find me, but I know it's too farfetched. If they're alive, they will have contacted HQ telling them what happened and continued on with our mission without me. I resolve to try and contact them tomorrow, after I've dealt with this pack of Hollows at the base of the trees.

***

The Hollows continue trying to reach me all night. When dawn starts to break and the sunlight returns my sight, I draw my bow from my back. Now that I can see clearly, it takes only seconds to slaughter them all. I don't have a second thought about killing them now, not after they've chased me from my team and treed me all night. Now I'm more angry than scared. When the easy battle is over, I climb down from the tree and retrieve my arrows. “That's one lesson they don't teach you in training,” I think to myself. “When night falls, you get to high ground.”

I stare at the dead Hollows at my feet. They're dressed in clothes so tattered, torn, and dirty, I can't even tell the color or patterns. I see what once seemed to be five men and three women. Five men and three women who had families, hopes, and dreams. Maybe they had love, but even if they didn't have any of that, they at least had their lives. And then when the virus got them, they became nothing. Empty.

I can't stand to look at them for long, and the smell is making my eyes burn. I can't get too sentimental; they're not people, and they were dead long before they met me. The leaves under my feet break the silence of the woods as I turn and walk away from the pile of bodies. I have to remember my goal: find Peeta, Annie, and Finnick and get them to safety.

I look at the micro on my wrist, ready to try and contact Johanna or Finch. That's when I see the large crack on the screen. It must have shattered during my fall, leaving me unable to contact my squad or HQ. I let the news sink in, leaving me numb once more. I am truly alone out here.

It seems one of the only uses I can make of the broken micro now is to check my location, as that is a pre-programmed feature, all of our maps having been loaded directly to our devices. I'm approximately three miles outside of the deserted town where our last sighting was. Getting to this town will be the easy part; finding the three of them and walking hundreds of miles back to Verona, while keeping myself and everyone else alive, will be the difficult part. It's a long shot, likely to fail; but it's my job and I refuse to return to Verona and face the shame and humiliation of having been separated from my squad and coming back empty handed.

As I delve deeper into the woods, my stomach begins to growl. From my loaded vest I retrieve a package of dehydrated powdered food. I'm unsure exactly what it's supposed to be, but I know it contains precious calories that will give me energy. I sling my bow over my back and arm myself with a blade as I eat the tasteless food, keeping my ears and eyes remain alert as I walk. Hollows can be so quiet, attacking you as you walk without any warning. The woods are eerily silent as I continue onward. It's cold out here, beyond the walls of my artificially heated city. I can see my breath when I exhale. The crisp air stings my lungs, but I welcome the pain. It keeps me awake – keeps me focused.

After what seems like hours of walking, the woods come to an end and I stumble onto what was once a highway. The pavement is now deeply cracked, grass growing through and reclaiming it's place. Large chunks have been blasted away completely by the wars of the past. I pause just at the edge of the woods, contemplating. Is it safer to be in the open, or should I remain concealed? I look around and see nothing in sight in either direction. Maybe, I decide, I won't be as surprised by a Hollow if I'm out in the open. With this decision firmly in mind, my feet hit the pavement resolutely and I make my way swiftly to the city.

The sun is high in the sky now as I reach the outskirts of a town; I'm not exactly sure how large the city is, but from my map it certainly doesn't look small. I imagine finding these illustrious survivors won't be easy. A little belatedly, I hear the familiar hissing of a Hollow and turn to face it. I find myself feet away from what used to be a man. What's left of his skin is gray and peeling from the bone, oozing blood and rot. I can see his skull in places where the skin has fallen off completely. He growls again, unruly, reaching towards me with hands like claws. Fresh meat.

I stumble backwards, my nerves once again controlling me as before, and blindly reach for an arrow from my sheath. He's coming closer with every second wasted. Accuracy. Speed. Consistency. I load the arrow and pull the string back tightly, my hand resting on my cheek. Let it go, I tell myself. But just for a moment, I hesitate. He's so close now, I can see every harsh detail of his rotting face. If I don't let this arrow go, everything will be over. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hate myself for my fear and hesitation, and so my fingers release the string with a snap. The arrow slices through his skull and his head drops on my boots as he hits the ground motionlessly. I stare into space where the Hollow once stood and swallow thickly. All of my training seems to have gone to waste if I have to force myself to kill these monsters, but it turns out Gale was right. This is not at all what I thought it would be. I force myself to retrieve my arrow and continue ahead.

I quickly discover that the farther into the city I go, the more Hollows I encounter. The city isn't quite as large as I'd expected, but it still plays host to immense amounts of Hollows. I realize this fully as I turn onto a main street in the city and see it littered with these creatures; all walking around aimlessly as if lost to the world. And they are lost, all of them. I managed to conceal myself behind a building before any of them catch sight of me or get my scent. I lean against the broken, brick building and wonder how I'm supposed to proceed. I have no chance on my own against all of these beasts. 

I realize as I'm pondering my situation how bleak it seems. I'm chasing on a hope that these survivors are even in the city; risking my life for people who may have already moved on to somewhere safer. I certainly wouldn't stay in this city, not as infected as it is. You're just a sitting duck, waiting to be devoured and turn into that which preys on you. 

I turn around and begin to exit the city the way I entered, deciding to look for an alternate route inside. 

 

It takes hours to walk the outskirts of the city, but eventually I decide on entering a small suburb. It seems to have less of a chance to be as overrun as the core of the city, where survivors would flee hoping for protection. There are rows of houses side by side, most caving in and rotting but some still in fair condition given the circumstances. But as I make my way down the broken sidewalk it is not the houses my eyes are trained on, but the pack of Hollows I see ahead, polluting the street. I lose count around thirty and sigh to myself defeatedly. My only option now is to kill them all. It is the only way I can enter the city from this side, through this neighborhood, and no where else was any less overrun than this. I know that I should quickly get used to killing them, because deep in the city there will be many more where these came from. 

As long as I stay well out of their sight and don't let them get my scent, I can take this group out myself using arrows. I click my one into place almost soundlessly and take aim at the closest Hollow, when I notice something out of the ordinary from the corners of my eyes. . . scattered on the ground, just feet in front of me, are dead Hollows. To the naked eye, this would be absolutely normal, but mine is trained and I catch the evidence most would overlook; these Hollows have been freshly slaughtered. The blood pooling on the road is still damp, I notice upon closer inspection, and a knife protruding from the skull of the closest Hollow is clean, containing no rust. Hope rears up in me as the realization dawns on me: someone was at this exact spot recently.

Barely seconds pass as I turn over this revelation in my head, and then I hear a voice in the distance shouting, far enough away that I can barely make out the words. I strain my ears, and think I hear someone shout run! The next cry sends an icy shiver down my arms; I instinctively tighten my fingers around my bow until my knuckles are white. The voice, the name they scream, springs me into action and my feet begin pounding the pavement before I can think clears.

“Peeta!”


End file.
